Monday, July 15, 2013

Another must read from D’Acquisto! Which sounds like my being a ####### alternate for the 1966 NJ Little League team that went to the final game in Williamsport. #stillbitter

Now imagine this happening in your hometown, the town where you were born, where you were raised, in the same stadium where you tried out for the majors eight years earlier. Your Mom, your Dad, brother and sister sit right behind home plate alongside the league VIPs, beaming with pride, leaning over to catch a glimpse of your face in a dugout surrounded by future Hall of Famers. You receive a nod from your hometown buddy Graig Nettles across the field, with whom you also downed a few beers at one of the three functions you attended last night.

Yeah, you feel love all right. You feel recognition, you feel affection, you feel things in this game you’ve never felt before, like you’re in the right place at the right time and your badass, 100 MPH-throwing right arm brought you here.

Imagine it’s July 11th, 1978 and you’re at the Major League All Star Game in San Diego, California.

Imagine 51,549 fans, mostly locals, a time when a family of four from La Mesa could afford and access All-Star tickets, fans that know your name, that want to see you on the field in the worst way, in front of Commissioner Bowie Kuhn and former President Gerald Ford, who’s about to toss out the first ball.

Now imagine if you could change just one critical element to this picture…….

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